A/N: Okay, so this isn't my normal style. I like happy endings, believe me. But recently, my friend was saying that I'm too much of a romantic, and happy endings aren't realistic. And then she went on to tell me - the NERVE - the Sadie and Anubis are not meant to work out. Hmph. But anyway, she bet that I couldn't write a sad story. And so here's the sad story:

The final battle is over. Both the gods and magicians united behind Ra. Apophis has been imprisoned for hopefully another millennia. Fresh off the victory, Anubis decides to pay Sadie a visit.

The palace is filled with the sound of laughter. Intoxicated with their victory, gods and magicians mingle, enjoying each other's company. Yet, despite the celebratory air, a few people are still somber. He appears and immediately searches the crowd for her. Their eyes meet, but hers aren't sparkling with joy. They are sad, and he knows why. He makes his way to her and stands by her side, not saying anything. She looks up at him, asking, "Will we ever find a cure?" His suspicions are confirmed. She's asking about the dying one. Walt.

"I don't know, Sadie," he answers sadly. "There's nothing I can really do for him. None of us gods know what to do. Perhaps you should ask Ra?"

"I already tried," she says bitterly. "Even he doesn't know what to do. We need a priest of Amun-Ra, someone related to whoever laid that curse in the first place." He nods.

"That's the problem. We don't have any," he says, palms spread out in defeat. Her face falls. He knows that isn't what she wants to hear, but it's the truth. "I'm sorry," he says, softly. Guilt pours over him. What good is he? He is the god of death, yet he can't help the young boy dying. Doomed to die, he thinks. And at such a tender age. She watches him, and her face softens.

"It's not your fault," she speaks up. His eyes widen. It's as if she's read his mind.

"Wh-what? How did you…?" he trails off, perturbed. She frowns, confused.

"How did I what?"

"How did you know what I was thinking?" he elaborates. She smiles. It isn't a wide one. It's a small, almost-sad-but-not-quite smile, but it's better than a frown.

"You had that look in your eyes. They looked so sad and conflicted and guilty, and I figured that not being able to help is what's eating you up inside," she explains. She's gotten his emotions perfectly, but he doesn't tell her that.

"I wish I could do more," he says instead. "I'm powerless outside of my territory. And I can only really help in the afterlife," he says angrily. "There's so much I wish I could help with, but I just can't." She puts her hand gently on his arm.

"It's okay, Anubis," she reassures him. "When he does go to the afterlife, I know you'll be there to look out for him." Her eyes are so worried, so sad. He isn't aware that his own eyes are the same, deep brown and filled with sorrow. For a brief moment he considers kissing her, but knows it isn't the time.

"Things will work out in the end," he promises, before stepping back and melting away. The throne room with the bright lights fades away as he steps back into the shadows.

~0~

Your eulogy would've been hard to write. He'd said that to her a while ago as a jest, but in a moment of panic he suddenly wonders what he would do if she died. What would he say? The prospect of her – so bright, so alive – dying, is too painful to bear. But he isn't here to witness her funeral. No, it's someone else's death he is attending.

He makes out her face among the mourning as she listens to those before her, speaking about memories of the deceased one. The boy. Tears stain her cheeks, and her eyes are wild with grief. He eases into the seat behind her, his heart heavy.

"He'll be okay," he comforts her, breaking the silence. She turns to him, wiping furiously at her tears.

"He made it to Paradise, right?" she asks. "He passed the test. His soul was blessed. Right?" He nods.

"He's there," he answers. "He's happy," he adds.

"I know he is," she replies. "It's just that it seems so unfair that he had to leave so soon. And we couldn't do anything about it."

"Life is hard that way," he says. "Sometimes you have no choice but to watch a loved one leave you. Even when you wish things could have turned out differently." She heaves a sigh.

"It's so bloody unfair," she says, biting her lip. "I want to go back in time and punch those stupid priests in the face." He smiles at her, but his eyes are still sad.

"That's the Sadie I know," he comments. "Those priests deserve it." She nods, not trusting herself to speak. They watch the rest of the funeral in silence.

~o~

He sees her again a year or so later. She's fifteen now. He can't believe he missed her previous birthdays. But duty calls. Now he's finally gotten a free moment. He watches her, getting ready to melt out of the shadows and say hello, but stops. She's with another guy. He squints. He can make out dark hair and dark eyes against pale skin. He looks almost like…like me, he thinks. But more noticeable is the smile on her face. He waits until the boy has left her side before he appears behind her.

"Sadie," he says. His voice, while not loud, still reaches her ears. She turns around and yelps.

"Anubis! How-how are you even here?" He shrugs.

"There are some people buried below the foundations," he explains. She shudders.

"Okay, I did not need to know that about my school." He smiles. This is the Sadie he remembers. The sarcastic, sharp one, not the one plagued by sadness.

"I see you're much the same," he remarks. She glares.

"And you haven't gotten any less infuriating," she retorts. He spreads his hands out.

"What can I say? We gods don't tend to change that much."

"Yeah. Guess that means you'll always be so bloody good-looking," she mutters. He cocks his head to one side.

"What did you say?" She blushes.

"Nothing." She pauses, glancing around furtively. "Wait, can everyone else see you?" He nods.

"There isn't much to take in, so there's nothing bending my image to make it appear like someone else. All you mortals can see me right now." She nods, blushing. He takes a step closer. "It's been a while, hasn't it? It's good to see you again." Before she can accuse him of not visiting, he holds up a hand. "And I couldn't come before, because of all these other duties," he explains. She nods again. Anubis feels that she's being oddly quiet. Something's wrong. He tilts his head to one side, puzzled. "Is something wrong?" She turns red.

"Anubis, don't take this the wrong way," she starts and then stops, taking a deep breath. "But I can't really…" she gestures around, "I can't really be seen with you like this. I have a boyfriend now, and people are going to see things and take things the wrong way and spread rumors, and…" He takes a step back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He doesn't know much about mortal affairs, but he knows enough to sense that whatever used to exist between him and Sadie is gone now.

"What's his name?" he asks, struck by curiosity. Sadie's face is still red.

"It's Eric," she says. "He's a lot like…" she trails off, unsure whether to finish the sentence. The answer is in her eyes, though. Had she really been about to say it? He's a lot like you. So she's found herself a mortal replacement.

He doesn't know much about matters of the heart. But from what he's experienced of love, he knows that it's enough to break him, to shatter his core. And his eyes, always so sad, grow even more sorrowful. Maybe it wouldn't have worked anyway, he tells himself. But that doesn't fill up the loss that wells up within him.

"I'm happy for you," he manages. Stupidly, he adds, "It probably wouldn't have worked out for us, anyway." It wrenches him apart to say those words, but he needs to distance himself, to find some way to force himself away. Hurt flashes across her face, and he thinks he sees tears. He turns away before he can see anything else.

~0~

Years later, he looks at her front door. It's the house in Brooklyn, where they trained their apprentices. She moved back in shortly after her husband's death (yet another funeral he attended). Her children live somewhere else. She watches the house alone.

He lets himself in and makes his way through the rooms. Many of them are unchanged. He stops in one that has a poster of him, in his jackal form. The poster is old and faded, but it still remains plastered to the closet door. He makes his way on to another room and opens the door gently. Light pours in through the windows. She sits at a desk, poring over scrolls and mumbling words to herself. When she hears the door open, she looks up, a smile breaking over her face.

He expected to see her drooling, old and senile like Ra was when she and Carter first restored him. She is frail, but her eyes are bright. They recognize him, and he is filled with relief. She will never be senile. Not his Sadie, so full of life and quick-witted.

"Anubis," she greets. "It's been a long time."

"It has," he agrees. He last saw her when she was fifteen. She's ninety-five now. Has it really been eighty years? He's surprised that there are no hard feelings. After what he'd said the last time they'd parted ways, all those years ago, he'd felt so guilty, so wrong for the final words he'd said to her. "You aren't upset?" he asks, sounding like – like a child? How can he be the childish one when he's been around for thousands of years? She shakes her head, smiling.

"Time has a way of healing wounds," she muses philosophically. "I suppose my time is up?" He shakes his head.

"Not quite yet," he answers. "But soon." She nods, pleased. It's funny how accepting she is of her impending death.

"How's my husband? And Walt?" she inquires.

"They're enjoying the afterlife," he responds. A troubled look comes over her face and he frowns. "Is something wrong?"

"I couldn't help wondering, but when I die – will my spirit look young or old? And please tell me I won't go around for the rest of the afterlife with my head on a chicken's body," she says. He bites back a smile.

"I suppose you'll have some say over what your soul looks like in the afterlife," he tells her. "Both Walt and your husband's look young. I'm assuming yours will look young too." She nods, satisfied.

"I'm glad you came," she says, meeting his eyes. Bright blue searches dark brown.

"I'll see you soon," he promises, standing up. Her room disappears in a burst of sunlight as he returns to the Duat.

~0~

Her funeral is a solemn affair, but those that are invited know the Egyptian ways. Her friends are sad, but they know that she will be happy in the afterlife. Carter and Zia have already passed on, as have Amos, so there isn't anyone directly related. But plenty of others show up. Apprentices, her children, her grandchildren. They smile as the coffin is lowered. He watches from afar as her ba rises. Their eyes meet. She smiles, waving him a farewell. He nods in response. He will go down to welcome her soon, but for now he needs time to think.

He could follow her, pursue her in the afterlife. But others are down there. Her husband, her brother, Zia, Jaz, Walt. Her heart is too big to belong only to him, and he knows that. She deserves a happy afterlife. She doesn't need him to trouble her thoughts. With sudden clarity, he realizes that it wouldn't be right to follow her. Once upon a time, long ago, during those tender years, they might have meant something to each other. They still do, but she has others now.

Five thousand years of watching both gods and mortals has taught him that selfish deeds end in chaos. Isis's selfish act of poisoning Ra to claim the throne for Osiris resulted in a weakening of Ma'at. He, a god, chasing after a mortal, will amount to nothing more than a broken heart.

Sometimes you have no choice but to watch a loved one leave you. Even when you wish things could have turned out differently. His own words ring in his head, and he suddenly he knows what the right thing to do is. It's time to let her go.